One dark night in Dublin, at the Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, the Mother Superior was sitting down at her desk to begin some long overdue paperwork to be sent to Rome. As she began to work, two leprechauns appeared on her desk.
"Jaesusmaryunjoseph!" exclaimed the Mother Superior, crossing herself.
One of the leprechauns appeared to be stifling a giggle, while the other was nervous, and fidgeted a bit. He took off his hat, stepped forward, and, anxiously clenching the hat in his hands, said, "Beggin' yer pardon, Mother Superior, but we mean you no worry. I only have a wee question to ask of ye."
The Mother Superior was quite taken aback. The fact that a leprechaun would need to ask her a question was something of a surprise. "Why certainly, little man," she said, "I'll answer if I'm able."
"Well," he said, fidgeting some more, "I need to know if..." he paused, "if any of the nuns at the convent are of the little people -- leprechauns, if you will."
The Mother Superior thought for a moment (for sister Therese was rather short), and finally decided, "No, I think not. To my knowledge there are none."
The second leprechaun thought this was very funny, and the Mother Superior gave him a hard look as it seemed that he may have had one too many nips of whiskey.
The first leprechaun, crestfallen, said, "Thank you, Mother Superior." And with that, they disappeared.
Mother Superior muttered to herself that God works in mysterious ways, and resumed her work. However, a short time later, the two leprechauns reappeared.
"Beggin' yer pardon again, Mother Superior," said the fidgety leprechaun, "but I have another wee question to ask of ye."
Mother Superior put down her pen, and looked at the two. "What help can I be to you now?" she asked.
"Umm, well, you see," began the leprechaun, nervously looking at his companion, "it's important for me to know if there are any nuns in Dublin that are of the wee folk." He wobbled a bit, and the Mother Superior began to suspect that he, too, was on the tipsy side.
"No," she said, carefully, "the fair city of Dublin has no leprechaun nuns."
This amused the second leprechaun to no end, and his fried whacked him with the hat that he still held in his hands. "Thank you again, Mother Superior," he said, and as before, they vanished.
The Mother Superior, slightly nonplused, took a moment to gather herself. When she finally settled down and began to work again, who should reappear, but the leprechauns.
She looked at them testily, as it was quite obvious now that they had both been drinking. "Yes?" she asked.
"Well, umm, beggin yer pardon yet another time..." he began.
"Yes, yes, get on with it, what do you want to know now?" asked Mother Superior, with a noticeable lack of patience.
"Ah. Well, um, I really must know if there are on the emerald isle of Eire, any nuns that might happen to be of the little people."
"No," she replied, quickly and firmly. "None."
"None?" asked the leprechaun, "not even down in Kinsale? Surely they..."
"None." She cut him off. "Not in the entire country of Ireland."
"Ahh, well then, thank you Mother Superior," said the leprechaun.
This time, however, they did not disappear. By now the second leprechaun had begun to giggle out loud. The first, still turning his hat in his hands, looked terribly depressed and it was quite obvious that he had yet another question to ask.
"Well? Out with it, then!" said the Mother Superior, completely out of patience at this point.
"I, um, well, it's like this, Mother Superior... I'd just like to ask if there are any -- anywhere in the world -- any leprechaun nuns. Even in the farthest reaches of the Globe."
Mother Superior had reached her limit. "NO!" she exploded. "None! Nowhere! Not a single one! I don't know what kind of joke you think this is, but I am a busy woman, and you are wasting my time!"
The second leprechaun could no longer contain himself and doubled over in laughter. Rolling on the floor, with tears streaming down his face, he said,
"I told ye, Shaughnessy, I told ye! Ye fooked a PENGUIN!"
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